My Times New Roman
My dream is the slow drip of water
As it ripples the ocean,
The flower blooming
In the cold of Spring,
The rose petal lying with the fall leaves.
It’s the thing that creates
The fountain tip pens,
But not the thing
That creates the people
Made out of TImes New Roman.
The creativity in writing,
The beauty in nature,
The laughter in every story
Echoing through my brain,
That creates them.
